


Marionette

by Anonymous



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Bondage, Child Abuse, Enemas, Exposure, F/M, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maximum Pain, Nightmares, Non-Human Charles, Objectification, Orgasm Denial, Self-Denial, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Starvation, Torture, minimal plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharon abuses, Shaw tortures, and Charles hurts. Erik watches, until he can't anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 3.0

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This contains graphic (child and adult) abuse, and also detailed physical descriptions of a very beautifully starved Charles--in every sense of the word. So if that's your kink, I love you. Enjoy! If it's not your kink, I still love you, but you might want to click out.

{

For an entire week, Sharon fancies herself a maternal being. The Xavier fortune is more than enough to adopt a human baby, but you can't train them. Besides, marionettes are in fashion, and she is awfully interested in those exclusive puppeteer soirees.

On Saturday, she buys a newly registered marionette, born only a couple of days ago. It's male, smaller than a human infant, and perfectly naked. The store owner had it on display, boasting of its fine pedigree--directly descended from the original line of mannequins--unparalleled resilience, conceived in vitro, minimum intravenous feeding and and no handling. A clean slate, only 3 pounds and $3,000,000! She pops its tiny form off the display stand by its adorably fluffy hair. She names it Charles.

By Saturday evening, Sharon decides that if parenting is anything like taking care of an underdeveloped marionette, then she wants no part of it. Unfortunately, sales are final. She could probably just buy another one, but decides to first commission a soundproof room, and flings Charles inside. The creature must have been drugged in the store--if she'd known that marionettes periodically cry and whine, she would hardly have made the purchase to begin with. 

On Thursday, she returns from a gala and opens the soundproof door. She can't really see the marionette, and flicks on the lights in the windowless room. Hopefully, the thing is dead by now. In that case, she could sue the store for selling her such a uselessly needy piece of junk. Unfortunately, its tiny ribs still rise and fall periodically. It's merely curled in a corner of the room against the black soundproofing foam, a few puddles of stale piss wrinkling Sharon's nose. Fortunately, it hasn't defecated. Even more fortunately, it's stopped making unnecessary noises. Maybe she could find some use for it. 

On Friday, she makes the call. The trainer, a Mr. Schmidt, comes within the hour.

"My, do you have a lovely specimen here, Ms. Xavier. Just over a week old, if I'm not mistaken. May I ask its name?"

"Charles. Train it. I want the thing to know basic commands as soon as possible."

"I can take it for two hours a day. Will that suffice?"

"Fine, fine. Just take it now."

"Any restrictions? Of course I would never inflict permanent damage. Your marionette's skin will be as perfect and unbroken as ever. But some puppeteers like to refrain from loud noises, certain punishments, specific foods...."

"Does the thing need to be fed?"

"Oh, no. Not this marvelous beast. It does need water, but not much."

"Then don't bother. Do whatever you need to, I just want it useful."

}{

The first thing Schmidt does involves a scale. He deposits Charles on it, and slowly examines the marionette from head to toe. Its large blue eyes are tired and half lidded beneath a fringe of light brown hair. Its freckled cheeks are supported by a sharp jawline, abruptly leading to a slender, smooth neck precariously balancing its childishly proportioned head. The marionette's thin shoulders rise into delicate clavicles that begin a narrow chest, ribs tantalizingly shifting against the tender skin around them. They give way to a soft, concave middle. It sits on a bottom with hardly any padding, tailbone at the end of a beaded spine shyly poking out. Bumps of hip bone bookend the concave which flattens and rises at a tiny nub between thighs that barely touch near the knees, which have been pushed together. Its breath hitches, and tiny fingers grasp at its abdomen, squeezing the flesh tightly. It begins to cry. 

The second thing Schmidt does involves a collar attached to a heavy length of chain leash. Every time the marionette gathers breath, the collar constricts, and it chokes instead. 

"Don't cry," Schmidt coos softly, jerking the chain with flicks of the wrist until the marionette begins to sway and stops fighting. 

It's a reasonably good start. 

}{

Schmidt's services are remarkably thorough. By the end of the week, Sharon can give it basic commands: go, come, shut up. The little beast can only crawl for now on thin fingers and sharp knees, but it moves quickly enough, and behaves itself. It fails once, after which she orders it into the soundproof room and shuts the door for a hot afternoon. It's sluggish and gasping, skin glowing rosy by the time she opens the door again. A brief call to Schmidt later, she gives it a bowl of water. 

"Drink," she commands. It does so, lapping desperately. She smacks it with a belt wider than its trembling thighs, and it whimpers. The water almost sloshes out of the bowl. "I didn't say you could lie down. Get up." 

After just a few seconds, Sharon snatches the bowl away. "Stop. Don't want you pissing at the puppeteer's soiree this evening."

The preparation required is minimal but still tedious. Sharon dunks Charles under the tap and scrubs viciously for a few minutes. She fastens a tiny corset tight over Charles's ribcage, pausing for a second at its edge. Charles's soft middle still shrinks inwards, but now even a corset is unable to disguise the ledge at the lowest ribs. Slowly, perhaps unconsciously, Charles leans into Sharon's hands, still on the corset straps. She pulls them brutally tighter in response, choking the marionette's thin waist and then tying it off. The sheer, sky-blue silk dress falls well over his exceptionally feminine form.

}{

The soiree is exceptionally delightful. Marionettes, Sharon learns, live for their puppeteer's pleasure. Quite literally, says one of the more handsome men she meets. His three marionettes used to be four, but he didn't like the other, and so it died. A very clean and convenient way of dealing with the things, Sharon notes. She also learns that Charles is, as Schmidt said, exceptionally attractive and very obedient. The marionette knelt at her feet does not waver. 

Schmidt comes as well with his own marionette, just five years old. Charles's large, bright blue eyes look resolutely away from Schmidt. Charles shrinks against the leg of the table. Sharon scolds it, directing a solid kick into its corseted chest, driving out what shallow breaths had managed to draw inside. She does not notice Schmidt's marionette clenching its jaw, eyes flashing.

Somehow, Charles manages to remain conscious for the entire evening, during which various puppeteers praise Charles's lithe figure and inquire after the marionette's weight. Some of them are impressed, and the ones that aren't have rather large and shapely marionettes, for mannequin use. Sharon is sure she can see flashes of envy in their eyes. The ones with thin and graceful marionettes assure her that a full corset will be unnecessary in the future--just reshaping the ribs slightly will be more than enough. 

At 10pm, the soiree draws to a close. Sharon is left with Schmidt and another man far in a corner of the balcony. The man whispers something to his marionette, and it shakes its head in denial. The man sighs, and strokes its hair. 

"Disgraceful," Schmidt comments. Sharon agrees. Marionettes have been bred so far from and so much lower than humans that treating them with such care can only lower yourself. Charles's sole purpose is to look pretty while opening the puppeteer world to her. And what handsome puppeteers they were! She allows Schmidt to escort her to a taxi, dragging Charles's breathless form behind her. Thankfully, the mannequin isn't heavy as she pulls it by the collar into the taxi. She doesn't intend for it to get heavier.

}{

 


	2. 3.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: 
> 
> _At 10pm, the soiree draws to a close. Sharon is left with Schmidt and another man far in a corner of the balcony. He whispers something to his marionette, and it shakes its head in denial. The man sighs, and strokes its hair._
> 
> _"Disgraceful," Schmidt comments. Sharon agrees. Marionettes have been bred so far from and so much lower than humans that treating them with such care can only lower yourself. Charles's sole purpose is to look pretty while opening the puppeteer world to her. And what handsome puppeteers they were! She allows Schmidt to escort her to a taxi, dragging Charles's breathless form behind her. Thankfully the mannequin isn't heavy as she pulls it by the collar into the taxi, and she doesn't intend for it to get heavier._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the sexual abuse of about month-old Charles begins here. 
> 
> (Overall disclaimer: Everything described here is horrific and absolutely unacceptable in real life. This work is pure fiction. I condone no abusive behavior in real life.)

A week after the first soiree, Sharon finds her marionette asleep, curled into a tiny ball on the couch. She slaps it hard, knocking it cleanly off, and then kicks it across hardwood and into the wall, hard enough to break bones. Of course, Charles is a marionette, and doesn't so much as bruise. 

"You do not sleep on my furniture," Sharon spits as Charles draws pained breaths, eyes watering. "You stay on the floor."

Something has to be done. At his next visit,  Schmidt suggests a solution. 

"You want it docile, and generally out of your way. As well as some kind of punishment you can enforce indirectly."

"Really, that last one is vital. The little beast's bones are atrociously hard on the hands. And it pisses all over the soundproofing foam in that room, so I can't keep it there. It'll seep through and rot my floorboards sooner or later."

"Most understandable, Sharon. Might I suggest a few changes to that soundproof room of yours?"

Sharon listens carefully. The proposed modifications are quite reasonable. The men come on Thursday to replace the foam with thick steel and ventilation, freon and gas lines and thick piping carefully arranged. It's finished by Sunday. After one last check for leaks, they leave. Sharon immediately directs the marionette inside the 10' x 10' steel chamber. It crawls inside, and she seals the door at once. There is a curving one-way mirror on opposite corners of the chamber. Sharon stands at one of them, and presses the mic button.

"Stay awake." A command worth learning. She sets those words to repeat every hour.

Sharon taps at the touch screen a few times. The room begins to fill with water. When it reaches Charles's chin, she stops the flow. As an afterthought, she gives the thermostat a downward flick, and leaves.

}{

By Wednesday, the marionette’s legs have sunk into a sitting position in the freezing water, ice on the surface bobbing with its shivering. The marionette's trembling, thin arms fail every few minutes now, landing its face in the water, whereupon it wakes abruptly, coughing and gasping wisps of vapor into the frigid air. It tried to lean into a corner once--Sharon's intense displeasure made it immediately abandon that idea.

Schmidt's services are only needed weekly now, and when he comes to fetch Charles, he listens carefully to Sharon's assessment before taking the quaking, wet mannequin, eyelids heavy and movements erratic.

"Your puppeteer told you to stay awake. You repeatedly disobeyed."

At this last word, Charles's pulse quickens, and the marionette's small form shudders.

"I'll have to punish you." Schmidt beckons Charles to crawl over to a tiled shower. He detaches the spray head, turns the cold water knob, and directs the blast full into Charles's face.

The marionette sputters, coughing and jerking backwards involuntarily. "You should know better by now," Schmidt chides. He gives the leash a sharp pull, and Charles remains as still as possible, exhausted limbs quaking and jerking sporadically underneath it.

It takes five continuous minutes of spray before Charles's limbs and consciousness fail. Schmidt considers this for a moment, and procures a spherical, smooth object about the diameter of Charles's thigh. 

Marionettes, as creatures purely living on their puppeteer's pleasure, have of course been adapted for this purpose as well.

In one motion, Schmidt forces the sphere into Charles's tiny, puckered hole. The marionette wakes again with a gasp, strong sphincter closing instinctively around the mass, pushing it completely in. Schmidt takes the opportunity to direct the spray into Charles's open mouth, gasp turning into a gurgle. Schmidt kicks the marionette over onto its back. The sphere bulges a little higher than its hipbones, a perfectly round half of it rising up among the surrounding flesh, which smoothly recedes into a sweeping dip. 

The next time Charles's consciousness falters, Schmidt retrieves a controller, and presses a button. 

The marionette cries out, gurgling water, and grasping for the sphere, abdomen tightening and twisting around the electric current.

Charles lasts for an hour before Schmidt commands sleep. 

}{

Charles is a month old before Sharon acquires an invitation to another puppeteer's soiree.

"I'd like the thing to stand. And walk, really. I've found an adorable little dress that would show off its legs _so_ nicely."

"Of course, Sharon. Let me see what I can do." Schmidt smiles, and pulls the shivering marionette from its steel enclosure.

On the scale, Schmidt lays it out and measures. It's definitely grown an inch. He glances at the reading: 3.2 pounds.

This is why it's completely unnecessary to feed marionettes. They gain enough weight without any aid when they're growing. Judging from this, though, Charles is doing so much slower than any other marionette he's worked with. 

How interesting. 

It's standard routine by now. The marionette rolls onto its front, lifting its backside into the air. Its little hole is tight and pink, bashfully nestled in a recess beneath its tailbone. Schmidt pushes the smooth ball in without a hitch, the opening stretching painfully wide before closing around the intrusion again. 

Time to begin. Schmidt pulls the marionette up by the collar. "Stand up," he says softly.

}{

The ball is set to give a shock whenever it comes closer than the length of its leg to one of the walls in the room--it's capacitive. Charles will have to remain standing in order to avoid it. Walking is similar, Schmidt explains. Sharon only has to command it to do so.

Sharon gushes over Schmidt's cleverness, and wastes no time kicking Charles into the room.

 It's two days before the event. "Walk," she commands. Once the marionette has pushed itself to its feet, she activates the control. It takes one step. Two. Three. Fourfivesi-- 

It loses balance, falling and clutching at the sphere, and scrambles to get up again. One. Two. Three. Four. Fivesixs--

Sharon contemplates it. "That is a bad habit. Grasping at itself is most unseemly. Heaven forbid the thing does that in a social setting. A lesson for next time," she sighs, flashing a smile at Schmidt.

}{

Half a day later, she switches Charles to standing. Thirty hours after that, she has the thing lie down and ejects the sphere. She leaves it for a few minutes while she fetches the dress. It's red, with wispy sleeves and a very dangerous, borderline obscene hemline that draws all attention to the marionette's legs. Sharon reaches down and pulls together both of its knees with her right hand. Its thin legs start about 2 inches apart from each other, touching gently at the joint and pulling apart again until the ankles.

The event is grand. Charles stumbles and falls a total of 6 times. "I'll punish you later," Sharon murmurs. Her displeasure is enough to send violent shudders through Charles's body. Eventually, she gets tired of it and decides to deposit it in the cloakroom. There are plenty of puppeteers keeping their marionettes there tonight.

Sharon chooses a cage adjacent to Schmidt’s marionette, and locks the door. Sharon is very, very disappointed. Charles remains desperately standing, still shuddering badly enough to threaten its already precarious balance. 

"You're Charles," the marionette next to Charles says. 

Charles's head lifts at its name, gaze darting upwards not-quite to the other marionette's face and back to the floor.

"My name is Erik. I saw you around Schmidt's house."

The second name elicits a strangled whimper. Charles tries to remain standing and falls very hard.

Erik's jaw clenches. "I know--I know what he does to you. It's not good. My mama called his kind of people--" Erik glances around. “— _monsters.”_

Charles doesn’t respond. 

“I guess you can’t talk yet. You’re just a few weeks, huh. I mean, it’s pretty amazing that you’re able to even stand.” 

Charles’s gaze flickers at the last word, and struggles painfully upright again.

“No, no,” Erik whispers. “I’ll stop talking.” Instead, Erik crouches down and reaches out through the bars, splaying a clumsy palm over Charles’s sharp shoulderblades. There’s a fraction of a second in which Charles subconsciously leans into the touch—and then the next moment, the marionette is completely rigid, eyes wide and breathing shallow.

Erik bites back a snarl, pulling back before any more damage is done, and sits in silence for the rest of the evening.

}{

Sharon allows Schmidt to confer the punishment after the soiree. “You can handle the thing, Klaus—I’ve had more than enough of it for tonight.” By now, Charles is a quivering mess of exhausted limbs on the floor of the cage. Sharon pulls off the red dress, and stuffs it into her handbag. 

Schmidt takes both of the marionettes back to his house, Erik walking slightly behind and Charles dragged along the floor by the collar. Erik slows several times, glancing back at the other marionette, but Schmidt only gives a stinging lash of displeasure, leaving Erik gasping for breath and scrambling to catch up.

After Erik is locked in another room, Schmidt turns his attention to Charles. Unfortunately, the past two days saw the marionette's legs completely spent. 

Well. At least its arms were usable.

"Such a shame that you couldn't make it another day standing. I’ll just have to punish you like this,“ Schmidt chides as he drags Charles into a sitting position. He grasps a few of Charles’s fingers, and puts small metal thimbles over them. “Erik made these. Aren’t they exquisite?”

Charles shifts nervously. The marionette’s middle emits a tiny whine, and Charles hunches around it.

“Oh, my. Digestive tract still fully functional? Well, good thing we’re working on that today.” Schmidt pushes the marionette onto its front and pops in a plug, 6 inches long and about as thick as the sphere. It bulges from the front, and doesn't entirely fit. “Whatever other inanities Sharon might spout, she is right about this. It would be dreadful if a pretty little thing like you gets too big.” 

Schmidt carefully fills a large syringe with a clear, slightly hissing fluid. “Open up. Don’t want to damage this first bit.” He pulls Charles’s mouth open, pushes the syringe almost completely down its throat, and ejects the fluid all at once. 

It takes all of a second for Charles’s eyes to widen. The marionette gasps and screams, clawing at its throat and middle and each time flinching away, as if the burning has spread to its hands as well. 

“Shhh. Don’t touch,” Schmidt coos.

Charles stops screaming immediately, hot tears dripping amongst uncontrollable spasms and hitching breaths. At the fifteen minute mark, the marionette stops trying to grasp at the pain with its hands. Schmidt encourages it, after another hour, to move as little as possible. And, for goodness’s sake, to straighten up that posture. A few nudges even has Charles’s body curving away from the pain. Though Schmidt is not Charles’s puppeteer, the magnitude of his pleasant surprise brushes against Charles’s receptors. The marionette strains to repeat the action, drawing thin, ragged breaths, back arching beautifully.

Schmidt glances at the clock. It’s getting late. “Hold still.” 

The next morning, Schmidt walks in to see Charles still holding the same posture. The marionette’s eyelids are heavy, lips slightly parted in concentration. An intermittent shudder runs through its body. Schmidt puts Charles over a bowl and carefully twists something at the middle of the plug, where an opening forms. A dark red stream of fluid and sections of sloughed off-tissue gush out from it. Schmidt waits for the distasteful mess to finish. Charles’s pulse flutters fast against his hands.

“It should come out cleanly, but you can’t be too careful,” Schmidt explains as he flushes out the remainder with a few squirts of an enema. “Don’t want to damage the last bit of your passage here either, as I’m sure it’ll see a fair few…visitors in the future.” Schmidt cheerfully slaps Charles’s backside, and finally jerks the plug out. “Let’s get you back to your puppeteer, darling.” 

}{


	3. 3.2 (art)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Artwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt more like drawing than writing this time around. Just got my first tablet, and giddily fumbled around with GIMP for a bit. Pretty little marionette is delicious.

 


	4. 5.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: 
> 
> _The next morning, Schmidt walks in to see Charles still holding the same posture. The marionette’s eyelids are heavy, lips slightly parted in concentration. An intermittent shudder runs through its body. Schmidt puts Charles over a bowl and carefully twists something at the middle of the plug, where an opening forms. A dark red stream of fluid and sections of sloughed off-tissue gush out from it. Schmidt waits for the distasteful mess to finish. Charles’s pulse flutters fast against his hands._
> 
> _“It should come out cleanly, but you can’t be too careful,” Schmidt explains as he flushes out the remainder with a few squirts of an enema. “Don’t want to damage the last bit of your passage here either, as I’m sure it’ll see a fair few…visitors in the future.” Schmidt cheerfully slaps Charles’s backside, and finally jerks the plug out. “Let’s get you back to your puppeteer, darling.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Water, silver, and a snowman. Bursting pressure from within and crushing pressure from without.

It takes Sharon another two months to realize that Charles is growing--never mind taller, but heavier as well. Worse yet, Schmidt confirms it when he comes over. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sharon cries. "You're--you're feeding the thing, aren't you?"

"My dear, do you really believe I would? I cleaned out Charles's entire digestive system. It can’t process anything more than water now.”

"What if it keeps getting heavier, Klaus? It's so pretty, but its legs still fail sometimes, and--and what if I can't move it? What if it turns into this elephant of a thing? I-I'll be made a fool in front of everyone, they'll all laugh and have their marionettes laugh along--"

"It's all right. That won't happen, Sharon."

"Then do something about this! I didn't choose the cutest one so it could slowly grow repellent. I've had enough of those 'teacup' puppies, surely this marionette is better than that!"

It is extremely difficult to talk Sharon out of her agitation. No, you can't stop watering it. Yes, you can water it less. No, it won't die, though it might become rather fragile.

Fragile enough, as it turns out, that Sharon's sharp twinge of disapproval very nearly snaps the marionette's strings. 

}{

Charles awakens, supine, to a rhythmic tapping on the face. The marionette parts its parched red lips and the water drops fall in, drumming against tongue and dainty white teeth. 

"Piteous little thing. Sharon claims she doesn’t actually intend to kill you, but just in case...hold still for me, now." Schmidt's fingers trail gently along the marionette's sharp jawline, down its slender neck. Charles swallows on reflex. Schmidt's fingers continue, bumping across its ribs, sliding along the graceful concave of its abdomen, down to a small nub and pinching hard, pulling and piercing it with a hydraulic punch.

Charles coughs, face turning away from the drip, doll-like body flushing hot. 

Schmidt chuckles. "Don't move." He threads a silver barbell through the piercing, dripping red. “A gift, from Sharon. She’s left you in my care for the next few days.”

}{

The piercing heals slowly, but the silver strengthens Charles’s strings considerably. Charles spends most of that time lying in Schmidt’s bathtub, rehydrating. He had Charles swallow a soft length of hose halfway down the throat, and pushed another tube up the marionette’s tight little hole. Then, he’d turned the tap on, and left.

That was yesterday. When Schmidt returns, Charles’s abdomen is distended and bulging far above gasping ribs, stretching the skin translucent. There’s a steady trickle of water escaping from Charles’s mouth, leaking along the edge between pink lips and rough hose, joining tear tracks and dripping into the tub. There’s another stream of water from beneath the marionette’s pelvis. 

“My.” Schmidt pauses for a moment to take in the sight. “It looks like we have a couple of leaks to plug." He deftly removes the hose, replacing it with a ball gag, and then runs a finger beneath the marionette's jutting tailbone. "Let's keep that in for a bit. Hold still." Schmidt pulls the tube out, and immediately plugs the gushing leak. The plug is large--larger than the volume of water lost in the transfer. Charles's throat emits a tiny whimper. 

"Shh." Schmidt brings a finger to his lips, as his other hand smacks Charles's bulging middle. It wobbles. Charles doesn't breathe. “You’re better than those pathetic little noises." Schmidt caresses Charles's swollen abdomen. “You were bred to be better. Finest prenatals, nerve endings tuned to maximum sensitivity. And of course, you're practically indestructible."

Schmidt tugs at the piercing a little. It vibrates in his fingers. "All the better to see exactly how resilient an 'indestructible' marionette can be. Stand up."

After several tries, Charles manages to struggle upright, leaning heavily against the edge of the tub. 

"Easily 2 liters. Erik can barely hold that much, at twice your height. The screaming when I try for even a little more, goodness. And, though Sharon can be rather careless, she did raise an interesting point. I, too, would like to see just how light you can get, especially at full size. You're off to a good start there, at least."

Schmidt strokes his palm down Charles's spine, following the ridges down to the plug's flared base. He slaps it hard. Charles jolts forward, biting back a noise, and the marionette's abdomen bounces against the wall. Schmidt smiles. 

"This is the creature you'd be if you became too heavy. Don't worry, water can't get you there." Schmidt squeezes Charles's abdomen hard between his hands. The plug pops out, and a torrent of perfectly clear water follows. A steady stream of piss leaves along with it, curving along silver. Charles's rapidly shrinking frame shudders helplessly.

}{

Charles is a fast learner. Quite a few times, Schmidt has to leave to attend to his own marionette. Erik, Schmidt explains, is occupied with a very interesting endeavor, involving metal. In fact, it was Erik who made the capacitive sphere, and this very device that Charles is using. 

"And you use them so much better than Erik does,” Schmidt praises.

Charles struggles upright, gasping and jumping again, reaching for the bare wire. There's an audible crack as the circuit completes briefly, and the silver band around the marionette’s slender neck flashes. Schmidt's pleasure surges through Charles's mind as Charles chokes, and the wire lifts just a little higher. 

Schmidt discovers that Charles can jump an entire foot, and not a hair higher. Charles’s legs begin to shake by evening, and completely give out by noon of the second day. Schmidt sighs, letting the wire fall onto Charles’s spent frame, which convulses in agony. In any case, he’s kind enough to break the circuit when Charles loses consciousness. It takes fifty seconds.

}{

“You’ve gained weight.”Sharon scowls. “Though you have grown a bit taller. If you’re doomed to keep growing, I suppose it could be worse.” 

Charles cringes from the displeasure radiating off Sharon. The scale’s settled at 5lb. The marionette is six months old now. Its delicate ribs expand and contract shallowly in tight, soft skin, pulling deep in the space between adjacent ribs and precisely inwards around the curving contour at the end of its ribcage. 

The season turned a few weeks ago. Sharon is going to her mother's house for Christmas and New Year's--a terribly boring prospect--but at least she could have fun with Charles beforehand.

“Oh, you’ll make such an adorable little snowman.” Sharon grins. Her dark wool coat brushes the snowy ground, submerging her boots halfway to her knees. “And just look at all this space between your little hips," Sharon coos, packing snow firmly into the deep recess. Charles's skin has gone extremely pale. A breeze blows, sweeping a sandy layer of snow across the ground. Charles shudders.

"Hold still, you'll ruin it," Sharon scolds. She's very careful. By the time she finishes, Charles is covered from the neck down by two spherical blobs of snow. Only the marionette’s arms poke out. “Put your hands flat. Like this,” Sharon demonstrates. Charles’s stick-thin arms and tiny fingers are very convincing.

After some consideration, Sharon encases most of Charles's head as well, and firmly places an enormous hat on top. She giggles, and takes several pictures before she realizes she's very late for her plane. Ten more minutes, and she's gone.

The snowfall between Christmas Eve and New Year's sees Charles nearly buried, arms submerged and ice forming at the surface of the marionette’s skin under the additional pressure.  Charles can do nothing but shiver helplessly in place. The cold silver burns. 

When Sharon finally returns, she fusses over the now missing hat, and scolds the still-buried Charles for not keeping a better eye on it. The marionette's high cheekbones are flushed deeply, and its gaze is glassy. 

"Good for nothing," Sharon huffs. "Get out of there, you stupid beast. What, are you trying to be cute?" Sharon does not want to deal with this troublesome little doll after dealing with her so-called relatives. Fortunately, Schmidt confirms that he has time to take Charles off Sharon's hands. When he arrives, Charles has managed to wrestle free, chunks of ice and snow still clinging to nearly translucent skin.

Irritatingly enough, Schmidt informs Sharon that Charles is rather dehydrated as well. Perhaps the stupid little puppet didn’t think to consume some of the precipitation it was submerged in. Schmidt has the thing take a mouthful of snow before they leave. It succeeds in removing the glassy sheen from the marionette’s gaze, and in thoroughly chilling the little space inside Charles's ribcage that was not yet frozen. 

}{


	5. 8.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: 
> 
> _"Good for nothing," Sharon huffs. "Get out of there, you stupid beast. What, are you trying to be cute?" Sharon does not want to deal with this troublesome little doll after dealing with her so-called relatives. Fortunately, Schmidt confirms that he has time to take Charles off Sharon's hands. When he arrives, Charles has managed to wrestle free, chunks of ice and snow still clinging to nearly translucent skin._
> 
> _Irritatingly enough, Schmidt informs Sharon that Charles is rather dehydrated as well. Perhaps the stupid little puppet didn’t think to consume some of the precipitation it was submerged in. Schmidt has the thing take a mouthful of snow before they leave. It succeeds in removing the glassy sheen from the marionette’s gaze, and in thoroughly chilling the little space inside Charles's ribcage that was not yet frozen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter the author goes to hell for.

The kneeling marionette grasps at its middle, delicate fingers closing completely around and squeezing hard through meager flesh to ribs and curved knobs of spine. Sharon kicks Charles discreetly. "Stop that, straighten up."

The banquet is enormous, and they're only on the third of twelve courses. Across from Sharon, another puppeteer gives her marionette a bite of mango. "The poor dear must be starving," she comments, nodding towards Charles. "I take it you're responsible for his marvelous figure. How old is he?"

"Its first birthday is in a week," Sharon responds, smile spreading across her face. Charles is sitting very straight now, head bowed deferentially and hands resolutely lying on its thighs, slender fingers easily wrapping around halfway. "Haven't fed the thing once."

"Well, I certainly believe that. You know, if they're hungry, exposure to food intensifies the feeling quite a bit. There's been a few papers on the subject recently. He's probably just responding to the--oh, I forget the word--it's a sort of cramping, when it goes beyond what humans can tolerate."

"Well, it doesn't need to clutch at itself and whine every time it's a little uncomfortable. Charles is much prettier sitting nicely."

"He is," the woman agrees. "But you do know that the longer you go without feeding him, the worse it'll be when you put him around food. I've seen marionettes writhing and sobbing themselves silly at these banquets. One of them--her puppeteer hadn't fed her in a few months--actually screamed."

"How distasteful," Sharon exclaims, horrified.

"Just make sure you know how much he can take quietly, and you'll be fine," the woman reassures her. "But almost a year, and he still sits so prettily! Just look at those tiny little bones."

Sharon is on edge for the rest of the evening, and keeps an eye on her marionette, kneeing it or kicking the sharp edge of its pelvis when it decides to hunch over. When the seventh course is brought out, the marionette actually whimpers, its abdomen visibly tightening through the sheer fabric of its dress. Sharon stomps on its toes. The banquet does end without any overly unsavory displays from Charles, but the marionette noticeably sags upon departing the hall. Sharon decides that something must be done.

}{

Sharon decides on frequent exposure to food, to build Charles's tolerance. Of course, she wouldn't actually feed the thing. Sharon adjusts the temperature of the metal chamber a little higher to match that of the fridge, and begins to store her food inside. Charles stays in the middle, rigidly motionless between episodes of gasping agony while Sharon piles items around. 

Schmidt comes the day before Charles's birthday, and has a far more effective approach. He puts a sealed sausage in front of Charles.

"Time for breakfast."

The marionette opens its mouth, carefully avoiding grazing the packaging with its teeth, and slides the long package down its throat as it's been taught to do. It's very long, and a good few inches of it refuse to fit. Schmidt slices the packaging open half an inch from Charles’s stretched red lips, peeling it off from the end. Charles shudders, the thin layer of flesh on its concave abdomen clenching. 

"I don't think Sharon quite understands how effective proximity is," Schmidt comments, bringing out an enormous pail of juice. "Put your face in there--don't breathe any in, of course."

Charles plunges in, on all trembling fours. It takes five minutes for the marionette's breath to run out, consciousness almost going with it--

Schmidt pulls Charles’s head sharply out of the pot and allows a few labored gasps through the marionette's nose before pushing its face back under. Charles's hair is wavy, soft, and quite easy for Schmidt to sink his fingers into.

"Ass up," Schmidt chides. The marionette carefully reverses the hunch of its spine, constituent segments of the ridged bone pushing together into a beautiful curve. Its underside, however recessed, is very obviously seizing. At least what's left of its stomach doesn't make any pitiful noises. Schmidt gives it a casual flick. "And control that."

Charles manages to keep the posture, but can't quite suppress the spasms. Two hours later, Schmidt has the marionette clean up, yanking the dripping sausage from its throat and wiping its face with clumsy fingers. 

}{

Sharon invites Schmidt over for Charles’s first birthday. They have dinner, and Schmidt brings the wine. Schmidt's marionette sits quietly at his feet, jaw clenched, while Charles carefully serves the dishes.

"Well, I'm glad it's finally able to walk properly," Sharon comments. "Though it still tries to clutch at its darling little waist when it thinks I'm not looking. Honestly. And I'm told it's only going to get worse, the longer I don't feed it. Feed it! Can you imagine?"

"It would pass right through even if you tried," Schmidt reassures her. "Perhaps the puppet needs a little distraction to help it along?"

"Oh, of course we can do that. It's Charles's birthday, after all. What do you have in mind?"

"Perhaps we could distract it." Schmidt thinks for a minute. "Erik, I think it's time to show Ms. Xavier your power. Why don't you start on what we talked about earlier?"

Erik unzips the case beside Schmidt and lifts a solid sphere of shiny steel with...nothing. It floats in the air, drifting towards Charles, who automatically goes on all fours. 

"Oh! What a lovely trick," Sharon exclaims.

The metal hesitates just outside Charles's pink hole before it pushes in, a little at a time--

Schmidt rams it in the rest of the way with the heel of his hand. It's quite a stretch, and Charles gasps involuntarily. "We don't have all day," he chides. 

Erik's glares at the floor. A sliver of the ball begins to draw into two chains, pulling segment by tiny segment out of Charles's tight opening. The heads of the chains form small clips, which curl around to Charles's front, seeking out pink nipples in the dips between ribs and clamping on. Another two chains wriggle out, one reaching down to snugly fit over the silver barbell and the other pulling up the ridges of Charles's spine to curl tightly around a new silver collar.

"I'd like to give Charles a present," Schmidt says. He pulls out what seems to be an extendable rod. One end has a large flat base resting on the floor and the other, a smaller surface with a hole in the middle. It curves upwards invitingly.

Schmidt pulls Charles up by the collar, positions the curving surface into the wide stretch of angular pelvis between dangling legs, lines up the hole with Charles's entrance, and signals Erik. The ball inside Charles starts shifting into a bulbous hollow tube, extruding through the hole in the surface and flaring outwards to secure it in place. Schmidt releases Charles's hair, and the marionette remains solidly suspended above the floor.

"A custom display stand? Goodness, Klaus, that was an amazing performance!"

"There's a remote control, so you can give the puppet a little shock if it's misbehaving."

"Oh, let me try." Sharon examines the remote, and presses the green button. Charles jerks on the stand. Sharon giggles, and turns the dial all the way up before pressing the button again. The marionette's tiny frame shudders until Sharon presses the red button. 

"I think we'll have to calibrate it. Sorry, it might get a bit noisy, Sharon. Erik, turn up the current." Schmidt presses the green button again. Erik reaches towards the stand, and Charles's shuddering turns to spasms. "Higher, come on. Keep going." Erik is scowling openly, and grits his teeth against Schmidt's whip of displeasure before Charles's spasms turn to convulsions.

Then, Charles cries out, delicate fingers clenching into fists. Erik flinches, brow contorting and face heating as Schmidt nods at him to continue until Charles's screaming weakens and the marionette's eyelids begin to close.

"Stop."

Erik jerks violently backwards from the stand. Charles goes limp, gaze unfocused and breathing uneven.

"Hmm. I'll have to punish it later for that dreadful noise," Sharon comments, and brings a forkful of salmon to Charles's face. The marionette's abdomen contracts weakly, but there is no other reaction. Sharon grins, delighted. "Oh, this is the perfect birthday present, Klaus. We should--ah, I forgot to order a cake!"

}{

The next year, Sharon makes sure to have a cake. In fact, she decides to generously spend her time and effort teaching Charles how to bake--by hunting down a video tutorial and playing it at the marionette. It's not as if Sharon needs to bake for herself. And the marionette is exceptionally smart.

Charles isn’t tall enough, and has to use a step-stool to reach the counter. It takes three hours of painstakingly careful measurement, mixing, and baking before the cake is done. Sharon doesn't miss the way Charles's abdomen clenches when the marionette transfers the cake out of the oven to the counter. It's a lot less pronounced now than it was a year ago.

Over dinner, Sharon discusses this with Schmidt. "I've had to use the stand every time I bring the thing anywhere close to food. It's getting used to the shock, Klaus, I'll need your marionette to recalibrate it, but--this can't go on forever."

"Well, there may be a way to stop it from happening."

"I'm not feeding the thing."

"No one's suggesting anything of the sort. In fact, the doll needs to be starved such that it starts digesting its organs. Its stomach and intestines are fairly small now, but they can disappear nearly entirely, along with most of the rest of its digestive tract."

"That sounds positively disgusting," Sharon comments. "Wouldn't it die from such a thing?"

"Don't worry, the process is entirely internal. It certainly won't die, the marionette can still process water. But this, like other modifications, will only arise after the marionette is fully grown, and stops putting on weight--around sixteen years."

Sharon makes an indignant noise. "How troublesome. Have you weighed Charles recently?"

"Eight pounds."

"That's heavier than my bag!" Sharon exclaims. At Sharon's feet, Charles flinches. "No, no. That won't do. How much will the thing weigh when it's 16?"

"Well, the lightest fully grown marionette I've seen was 32 pounds, just shy of five feet."

"Thirty--!"

"Then again, your marionette is lighter than any other I've seen at this age. So, who knows?"

"Thirty-two is unacceptable. In fact, half that is far too large!" Sharon frowns. "Any heavier is practically luggage."

}{

This time, Sharon remembers to put Charles in a kennel before leaving for the holiday. "I'll be gone a couple of weeks. Behave yourself." She puts down a few more bills on the counter. "Make sure the customers use protection."

The first customer tosses Charles onto the bed, on its back. The shopkeeper watches idly on the monitor as the man secures Charles's thin limbs to the top two bedposts, rope on arms and long legs, thinner than the man's wrists. The man's cock, however, is of comparable girth. He rolls on a thinly stretched condom. He grasps the marionette's pelvis in one hand as he aims and thrusts his cock into Charles's puckered hole, up to the hilt. It barely fits. The head of his cock makes a clear impression against Charles’s skin, bulging just below the end of the marionette's heaving ribcage. 

The man adjusts his hold, one hand easily holding Charles's sharp pelvis and the other nearly closed around Charles's abdomen--spine, a thin layer of flesh, and skin stretched into a clear outline of the man's thrusting cock. 

It's not long before he comes, eyes drinking in the sight of Charles's tiny, jutting, shuddering ribs and fingering the delicate bony protrusions and recesses where Charles's ass would have been. The man growls, slamming in as his cock spurts and the tight skin above Charles's stomach bulges further to accommodate the load. Before he leaves, he unties the marionette's shaking limbs.

The second customer that night likes mouths. Charles is much too light for him, so he borrows a bag and a tube from the shopkeeper.

Charles is directed to lie on the floor. The man grabs both of Charles's legs in one hand, lifting them to expose Charles's slightly swollen hole. He inserts a tube. Two liters later, Charles's middle is bulging obscenely. The man lifts him by the ankles.

"Shit, you're still so damn light." He fills the bag again. Charles's eyes are watering by 3L, breathing shallow. At 3.5L, Charles's throat emits a perfectly helpless whimper. The man grins and closes off the valve. "Elastic little doll. Hold it in for me, all right love?" 

Charles has had enough practice with Schmidt that this is barely achievable for the second it takes the man to plug the hole. The pressure pushes into Charles's ribcage. The man kneads at the huge bulge, slowly growing hard as Charles's large blue eyes stream, weak body trembling in agony. The skin on the marionette's abdomen is stretched to translucency.

"Kneel for me. On the step-stool, love." 

The marionette manages to roll on its side, tries to get up, and fails. Charles crawls instead, heavy abdomen wobbling and dragging on the floor. With gargantuan effort, the marionette manages to pull itself upright on the step-stool, sitting on its legs. Its huge abdomen strains over the sharp edges of its pelvis, beyond its knees, taut bulge poking just beyond the edge of the step-stool.

"Open wide." 

Charles swallows the man's entire length, the latex reaching all the way down Charles's stretched, straining throat. He swallows some more, sucking and tongue moving in a practiced motion.

The man groans, grabs Charles's hair, and begins thrusting. Every time, Charles's agonizingly distended middle wobbles, the water inside sloshing back and forth with the rhythm. Charles's choking breaths stutter to a halt as the man slams in one last time. The marionette continues to swallow desperately around filling latex and the jerks of orgasm.

"You are exceptional," the man marvels, pulling out and squeezing at Charles's middle one last time before removing the plug. He leaves the room as Charles's dripping tears and gushing enema enter the drain on the tile below. 

"I'll be back tomorrow for that one," the man says on his way out.

}{


End file.
